To fight aloud is very brave, But gallanter, I know, Who charge within the bosom, The cavalry of woe.
I do not like the man who squanders life for fame; give me the man who living makes a name.
Write me of hope and love, and hearts that endured.
I need you more and more, and the great world grows wider, and dear ones fewer and fewer, every day that you stay away.
I tasted life.
I must go in, the fog is rising.